


Why the Sweet Robin Sings

by misura



Category: Desperate Romantics
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: "Look at you," Gabriel says, voice warm with approval - or gin, more likely.
Relationships: Dante Gabriel Rossetti/Fred Walters
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Small Fandoms Fest





	Why the Sweet Robin Sings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunsetdawn20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetdawn20/gifts).



> prompt: _Rossetti/Fred, Fred would do anything to be noticed_

"Look at you," Gabriel says, voice warm with approval - or gin, more likely. " _Look_ at you."

Fred's looking. He's supposed to, of course; it's why Gabriel's picked this room, instead of another one, some closet where they may find a wig and a dress and whatever other accessories Gabriel deems necessary or desirable for tonight's entertainment.

Fred thinks he looks ridiculous. He does look ridiculous. A grown men wearing a wig and a dress.

"I'd ask you to model for me in a heartbeat," Gabriel says, which Fred thinks is pushing the joke a little too far, even for Gabriel.

Gabriel seems to realize the same thing, adding, "Well, I mean, if you weren't flat as a plank, I mean, God's sake, Fred, can't you do something about that? There must be something, plenty of women who don't have a lot of that - let's have a look around for something that will make you look - ah."

Fred wants to rip off the dress and put back the wig and get out of here. Now.

Gabriel's holding up an item of clothing Fred would never presume to so much as touch, because there are items of clothing a gentleman ought to leave alone, even a gentleman soaked in gin, who has let a friend talk him into doing something foolish.

"Now, we just need some stuffing." Gabriel looks around, all set on drawing out Fred's torture for as long as possible - or until Gabriel bores of it.

"I don't think - " Fred thinks he should tell Gabriel he wants to leave now. Gabriel's had his fun; he's gotten Fred in a dress. Humiliating him, embarrassing him - nothing new.

"Never think, Fred!" Gabriel moves through the room like a whirlwind of destruction. Fred tries to calculate the damage, tries to remember how much money he's still got on him, in case the room's owner returns and makes a scene. "Thinking's over-rated! Leave it to people better suited to it."

Fred looks at his reflection. It looks sad, he thinks. Resigned. A little judgmental. He can imagine it asking him, _when are you going to learn?_ and he knows the honest answer: never.

When it comes to Gabriel, Fred's never going to learn.

Gabriel crows, pressing something soft into his hands, and Fred lets it happen. His reflection looks disgusted.

"Well, go on, man. Put it on," Gabriel commands, and Fred obeys.

He imagines he feels Gabriel's eyes on him, hungry and rapacious, even though there's nothing under Fred's shirt that should interest Gabriel. Then again, when has Gabriel ever paid attention to things like 'should'?

"Don't dawdle, Fred. God, I swear you're worse than a woman," Gabriel complains, and Fred wants to chuckle, because when it comes to Gabriel, 'dawdling' isn't generally what women do.

He does suppose, rather, that it's rare for Gabriel to be impatient for a dress to go on, instead of coming off.

"There," Fred says, daring another look at himself. The illusion's still far from perfect: a sad man with a sad wig in a cheerfully colored dress.

Gabriel whoops, groping Fred's obviously fake bosom as if he wants to find out how it compares to the real thing (and Gabriel would know, of course) and Fred fantasizes about doing what a woman would do, but doesn't. He's not a woman; he's just Fred.

"Gabriel. Please." Begging rarely helps with Gabriel, but it does do the trick sometimes, if only because Gabriel claims begging bores him.

No such luck today: Gabriel steps back, giving Fred a moment of false hope before moving in again, brushing Fred's long fake hair away from the back of his neck and kissing it, his arms coming up around Fred from behind: a tableau of young lovers, lost in passion.

Fred supposes he cannot complain about having been assigned the role of the woman, the embraced, rather than the embracer. He could claim he dislikes the close physical contact, Gabriel's nearness, but it would be a lie, and Gabriel would know it for one and act accordingly.

"Come back home with me," Gabriel says, his breath warm on Fred's ears, his hands kneading flesh that isn't there. "I need you. I must have you."

They're mere words, lies. They come easily to Gabriel, and because he looks the way he looks and smiles the way he smiles and because he's _Gabriel_ , people let him get away with them.

"Don't," Fred says - more begging, though he tries to sound stern, serious. _You only need me to pay for your drinks,_ he wants to tell Gabriel. _You only must have me as your lackey, your hanger-on, your slavish follower._

Gabriel's mouth is on his neck again. Fred knows there's going to be a mark, that Gabriel means to leave one.

He imagined turning around, kissing Gabriel back - assuming Gabriel would let him.

"Don't what?" Gabriel asks, voice soft and sweet and dangerous. "Don't sweet-talk you, even though you love being sweet-talked? Don't kiss you? Don't fuck you, even though you're clearly begging to be fucked?" One of his hands gropes lower, to a place where a woman would have little worth groping. "Fred. Fred, Fred, Fred. You're not fooling anyone, you know."

"The objective wasn't to fool people," Fred says. He wants to grab Gabriel's hand and move it, but at the same time, he wants Gabriel to keep touching him there, to give him more than just a grope, a touch.

"No," Gabriel says. "And the objective wasn't for me to bend you over this table and fuck your brains out either. But hey, I'm in a mood to improvise. And you're not going to tell me 'no', are you?"

Fred swallows. He feels he might burst into flames, or die of shame with how just a few words from Gabriel can make him want things no gentleman should want, things he's never wanted before.

His mouth feels dry. "At least let me get out of this dress, first. I don't want it to get dirty or - "

"You think I'd want to do this to you - to _you_ , if it weren't for the dress?" Gabriel asks, and then he laughs, and Fred decides that he would really, truly like to die now, God, please, but he doesn't, of course, because in this room, there is no God, only Gabriel, and Gabriel's mouth, and Gabriel's hands, and Gabriel's cock, and Gabriel was right, is always right: Fred could never tell him 'no'.

He doesn't this time either.


End file.
